Tooth Fairy
by KageBecks27
Summary: Arthur's heard rumors about his boyfriend Francis, but is it really what he thinks?  Meanwhile, Francis tries to figure out why the Brition is upset with him, and goes to extremes to get him speak to him again. Rated T for Arthur's dirty mouth


Hey everyone! This is a joint little short between myself and Chris_Remmey, even though we really fail at keeping short fics short. ^^' This is actually a gift fic for KitkatTenshi for giving us the 50th review on our joint fic The Fading Rose. Sorry it's so late KitkatTenshi! We made it extra long for ya though. Hope you guys like it!

Hetalia sadly does not belong to us...the things that would take place if it did XD

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**Tooth Fairy**

Confused blue eyes watched the raving nation before him as he stalked away. "Arthur, I didn't mean anything by it!" he cried, genuinely having no idea what had set the shorter man off on such a tirade.

Arthur turned around and glowered, green eyes set narrowly on the man across from him. Anger welled up inside him when he saw the innocent façade France had. "Just leave me alone!" he snapped, nearly spitting his words.

Francis stilled, flinching at the seething tone. He didn't dare move, trying to think of any way to calm the man before him down. "_Angleterre_, what exactly did I do? Why are you so upset?" It hurt to see how angry the man he loved was. It wasn't good for anyone when England was this upset, especially since Arthur didn't hesitate to take it out on those around him— which was usually Francis.

Gruffly grabbing the thick and scratchy fabric of his woolen coat, the small island nation kept his malachite stare towards the threshold. "You know exactly what you've done, _Francis_." The words were low and cold, like droplets of liquid nitrogen. "I hope you have a pleasant night." Arthur paused, about to spit something else and then faced to the door.

Pain flashed behind sapphire eyes, confusion marring his pale face in deep lines as the words cut into him. Bringing himself out of it as Francis saw Arthur move to leave, he skirted forward— placing himself between the retreating country and the only exit from the room. "Please Arthur, I have no idea what you're talking about! If you're upset about what I said, I'm sorry," Francis apologized, the words rushing from his mouth. "I was merely jesting." Really, it was only a light jab at Arthur; one that had never instigated such a reaction before. England had blown up at him like a bonfire doused in gasoline.

England glared. Eyes flashing in warning, he tilted his gaze up at the other man, barring his teeth in a snarl. "A Jest! Insulting me like that was merely a jest?" His lips came together in a purse, eyebrows jutting down to a sharp 'V'. "No. Not now," he muttered. Again Arthur turned away and tired to leave through the door. "Goodnight."

Without thinking, Francis reached forward and seized Arthur's arm, not wanting the man to leave without giving him a reason why he was so upset. If it was something he did, Francis wanted to know about it. "I'm sorry," he tried again. He didn't think that an insignificant taunt would start such a fight. "I didn't mean to call you a..."

Nostrils flared, Arthur raged and wheeled around, fist clenched tightly and connecting squarely on France's jaw. "Don't touch me," he hissed.

The force of the blow sent France stumbling backwards, eyes wide as he stared the man before him. Arthur's nostrils were flaring like a bull; he could almost picture the green eyes turning red. Shock kept him still, not expecting the punch. Sure, England had hit him before– usually not without France giving a few of his own– but this was different. Crimson blood dripped down the corner of his thin mouth. A blaring color against the pale skin, snaking its way to drip off his chin. Voice gone, he couldn't do anything but stare at the island nation before him.

Eyes flickering towards Francis, looking almost just as startled, England seemed to assess the golden haired man for a second before turning on his heel and walking out the threshold. The door slammed behind him.

Francis stood stalk still for a few minutes afterwards, merely staring at the closed door. When his senses drifted back to him, his hand came up to touch his lips, flinching as it sent a dull ache. Pulling back, he saw the blood staining his fingertips from his split lip. Not wanting any more to fall, he moved to lick it away, only to pause again when he felt one of his teeth had come loose. "Still has one hell of a punch," he muttered, moving to find something to staunch the bleeding. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out why Arthur was so angry with him. France had merely called him a rabbit, something he had done hundreds if not thousands of times over the centuries they had known each other.

"What could I have possibly done?" he mused, finished wiping the blood away with a previously discarded handkerchief. Tossing it away with a groan of annoyance, he took to pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back, face serious. He had to talk to Arthur– there was not a way around it, but there was no way said Briton would be willing. There just had to be some way to agree to a meeting of sorts. An idea dawned on him as he found himself tonguing the loose tooth, pausing in his stalking. A stiff smile stretched his lips as he remembered something the Englishman had told him long ago with the help of their old friend Jack Daniels.

As the plan formulated in his head, he snapped his fingers with the epiphany. His hand dove into his pocket, retrieving his cell phone and flipping it open, fingers poised over the keys. He paused before moving to scroll through the contacts. "Only question is...who can I ask?" Not many would comply with what he would be asking– not without too many questions, anyway. A person who fitted his need drifted into his mind as he searched for the only name that seemed to not be in his contacts. "Merde," he growled in annoyance. "Where could I find Russia?" Coming up empty of places to even start looking, he sighed before changing his thinking. "Who would know where he would...America!" He quickly held down one of the few speed dial keys he had programmed and waited anxiously for the other line to pick up.

After a few rings, there was a click and a yawned, "Yo! What's up?" America finished the yawn loudly, making the speakers of the cell phone hiss with his breath.

Flinching at the crude greeting, Francis was quick to clear his throat and bring himself back to the task at hand. "Bonjour Alfred, I was wondering if perhaps you knew where I could find Russia?"

For a second there was silence on the other line. Crinkling dissipated the silence when America opened up a bag of chips. "Russia? Why do you want to know where he is?" He gave a nervous laugh, and the sound of crunching chips filled the speaker. "I mean...why would I know?" Alfred's laugh was a little too loud.

The younger nation's nervousness brought a small smile to his lips, a nice reprieve from the frown that had stained his face since Arthur's departure. "Come now Alfred, you _always_ know where _dear_ Russia is," he teased lightly. All humor left him as his voice gained a less accusing nature. "I really need to...have words with him Alfred."

Again there was a pause, and when Alfred spoke again there was a hesitant and cautious tone to his voice. "Hey...this isn't like Artie's speech or anything...'cause," Alfred cleared his throat and muttered, "Ya know we've already had _that_ talk...and yeah." There was another bout of crinkling. "Uhhhh. Well...let's see..." Alfred coughed and degraded into unintelligible muttering. "It's Tuesday night...so he's either kicking baby seals or buying something…like milk or butter."

Francis faltered at the random combination before bringing himself back together. "No, it's nothing like...that and...um, where would he go," he rambled, pausing to clear his throat, "to buy milk and butter?"

"Ehhhh..." America's voice became strained and tinny. "Um." He muttered something quickly and spewed out, "How 'bout I just give you his number? He's probably driving right now."

"I would hate to inconvenience him," Francis quipped quickly, already moving towards his jacket. Besides, he didn't want to give Russia a chance to say no. "Perhaps if you just tell me what store..."

"...Ben and Jerry's."

"Ben and...right." Francis bit back a chuckle before he could upset the other nation. "_Merci_ America."

"Yeah, yeah. _De rien_," Alfred muttered and hung up the phone quickly.

Snapping the phone closed, Francis grabbed his coat and keys before running out the door. Hopefully he could catch Russia in time.

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His car pulled into the parking lot of Ben and Jerry's just in time to see the tall nation exiting the establishment. Throwing the car into park and throwing the door open, Francis bounded over towards him. "Russia," he cried out. "Can I talk to you _s'il vous plait_?"

Pausing in his step, Russia turned his head to look down curiously at the Frenchman. Platinum blonde hair fell into his eyes, and with a leather clad hand he pushed the strands away.

"France?" he asked with a smile, "Ah. How are you?"

"_Bien, bien_," Francis muttered quickly, realizing what he was about to ask of this man. He paused, reaching back to scratch at his golden hair thoughtfully. "Actually, I was wondering if you could possibly do me a favor?"

Shifting lightly, Russia's violet eyes focused carefully on Francis' face. He shifted the bag in his arms with a soft crinkle. "Oh? And what may that be?"

Steadying himself, he stared into glowing violet with determined blue. "I was wondering if perhaps you could punch me?" He stood straight, completely serious– fire burning in his gaze as he pointed to the spot where England had hit him before. Francis barely hid a flinch at how tender it was. "Right here."

Russia stared at France as though he had gone insane. Lips pressing together in disbelief, they turned into a larger smile fueled by slight nervousness. "France, do you have a concussion? It seems that you have already been hurt."

Francis shook his head forcefully, before continuing to stare down the taller nation, daring him to look away. "No, I'm fine. Truly. Please Russia, I really do need this favor."

Russia contemplated this for a minute before sighing and placing the bag down. "Da. But I do not want to hear America asking me why I have hit you. He would not be happy." Russia paused, looking thoughtful before blinking and tilting his head. "This must be quick."

"Yes of course, Alfred will never know," Francis muttered, realizing in the back of his head that sane people should not be excited at the prospect of getting punched. Either way, he straightened himself more, face set and serious as he waited for what was coming. This was possibly the only way to get Arthur to talk to him.

Russia sighed, shoulders hunching before straightening and becoming the hulking force that frightened off so many. "Alright. On the count of three. One...Two..." And then with a mighty swing, Russia's closed fist cracked against France's jaw. The blow was exactly on top where the purpling bruise from Arthur's hit was.

"MERDE!" Francis cried as he stumbled back for the second time that day. He cringed as he felt the small split on his lip worsen, new blood flowing freely from the wound. As he spoke, he felt the loose tooth merely hang– more blood flooding his mouth. Reaching in, he pulled out the tooth with a hard yank, grinning stiffly and spitting out the pooling blood. Shaking off the bone rattling strike, he turned to smile up at the stunned Russian. "_Merci_ Russia! _Merci_!"

Russia nodded silently, but gave the Frenchman an odd look and shook his head once. He turned around to grab the bag on the pavement. "And they all say that I am the one unstable..."

"Because most of the time you are, you crazy Russian," France chided playfully before turning and heading back to his car; the strike made all his teeth hurt in his jaw. "Thanks again Russia," he called back to the leaving country, before easing himself into his car. Turing the ignition on, he held up his blood stained prize.

Russia glanced down at the bag after watching the blue-eyed man drive off. He looked at the container and sighed. "The ice cream has melted."

* * *

France paced about in his bedroom dressed in his nightclothes and holding a pack of ice to his face. He had forgotten how hard Russia could hit and had startled himself when he caught sight of his jaw in a passing mirror. It didn't matter. Arthur was worth it. Bringing sapphire eyes back to the tooth in his hand, he wondered how long he'd have to wait. The grandfather clock downstairs struck midnight and the tenor chime echoed eerily throughout the house. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the ice pack down on the bedside table before moving to pull the cotton out of his mouth he used to stop the bleeding. "I hope this works," he muttered as he tossed the soiled cotton in the trash. France crawled into bed, tucking the tooth underneath his pillow and lay down, falling into the mask of sleep. "Now all there is to do is wait."

It was an hour before anything happened. A gust of wind rattled against the panes of glass in the window, gently and silently blowing it open. Light curtains billowed gently, dancing to a silent tune and illuminated by the silver moonlight. A soft fluttering filled the room with the cool night air. Arthur poked his head in, surveying the dark area before floating into the bedroom. He patted down his toga, tucking his wand between his knees. "Now where did I place that quid?" he muttered softly.

Francis stirred at the entrance, previously on the verge of falling into slumber. Mind now awake, he let his body relax deeper into the façade.

Arthur, still fluttering over the floor with the gentle flaps of his wings, finally found the deep pocket the currency rested in. Turning around to float to the bed, he reeled back seemingly figuring out who was lying on the bed. He wings quickened in agitation. "Bloody hell?" Arthur's face became a deep angry red, tugging on the toga bunching higher on his thigh. "Fucking... You're not loosing any teeth!" A spluttering sound fell from his lips before he fell silent again, not wanting to wake up France.

France flinched at the yelling before quickly passing it off as another stir and flipping over. He turned his face away from Arthur, making sure one of his hands still rested beneath his pillow. He gulped down a curse as the soft pillow struck his bruised face none too lightly

Again Arthur's wings fluttered in agitation and he rested his fingers over his face, grabbing the wand tightly and hissing a sigh. "I just better do this transaction before he wakes up, the adulterating bastard," he said caustically. He sighed, hand poised to tap the pillow with his wand. His right hand slipped under the down to slip the tooth away.

Francis waited until he felt Arthur's hand come within inches of his own. He stuck, ensnaring Arthur's wrist. "Got ya!" he cried, throwing off the mask of sleep and opening his blue eyes to stare into startled emeralds. Making sure his grip was firm and strong, he pushed himself up, ready for a struggle

Arthur, startled, tried to fly back and away from the bed. With his arm tethered down though, all the nation could do was stare furiously at the man holding him. "Fucking–!" he started, spitting in anger like a feral cat. England then paused, seeing the purple and blue bruise on France's face, swelling up his jaw and cheek. The anger quelled down to a simmering rage. "What happened to your face?" he finally snapped, knowing that he hadn't hit _that_ hard.

"Hmm?" Francis hummed thoughtfully, the question catching him off guard. "Oh yes, I _was_ punched, remember?" he quipped out quickly, using the distraction to push off the covers and stand. With the fluttering Englishman still trapped in his grasp, he allowed his eyes to look over the interesting outfit he was wearing before meeting Arthur's eyes once again. England had said there was a uniform.

Arthur's face turned red, catching Francis's eyes giving him a once over. Attempting to tug his hand back again, Arthur silently seethed and narrowed his green eyes. He didn't feel that bad about the hit though, the bastard deserved the punch.

When Francis didn't break the silence, Arthur turned his gaze away, frowning at the wall. "Where did you get that tooth from? I really didn't hit you quite that hard." Maybe he should have, Arthur decided, but there had been a little pang of guilt that had kept him from putting his full force behind the hit.

"You hit it hard enough to loosen it," Francis replied quickly, trying to hide the extent he went through to get Arthur here. He didn't need to lose anymore teeth. The burdened silence hung in the air as he took a step forward, his entire demeanor shifting as he gazed at his beloved in confusion. "Now will you please tell me what I have done to upset you so badly? If it's because I called you," he spoke softly, pausing in reluctance to use the term. "...that, I promise to never do so again."

Grinding his teeth lightly, Arthur's wings flapped quickly together though he was now standing on the floor. His face was red, though it was from anger rather than embarrassment. He turned to look from the wall and gave a chilling glare. "The fact that you have the gall to deny it..."

"To deny what?" Francis cried loudly. The fact that England refused to answer him directly, or even look at him, was beginning to frustrate him to no end. Even so, his pale face twisted with the need to understand, the ache of his jaw was on the outskirts of his thoughts.

Arthur finally locked his gaze with Francis' blue eyes. "You and Spain!" he shouted, hurt, and tried to rip his arm away once again.

France's grip faltered as the words passed Arthur's lips. "What about Spain and I?" he muttered out quickly. Who had told _Angleterre_ about him hanging out with Spain! Merde, did that mean he knew about the surprise! He groaned inwardly at the thought, after all he had done to keep what they were doing hidden.

"Don't act so innocent! I've heard the rumors..." here Arthur faltered, trying to keep the hurt from his voice and instead turn it to anger at the betrayal. "...And I know you two were close before." He huffed, eyes darting down and fluttered his wings slowly.

Sure they had gone behind his back, how else was he supposed to...wait, what? France's eyes shot wide open as he stared at the man before him. "Wait a moment, what exactly do you think happened?" he asked sharply, brow furrowing.

Arthur reclaimed his arm once more, lips pressed into a thin line. His arms hung down by his sides. "What do I think happened? I think you two were together behind my back, that's what!" England snapped. He gritted his teeth and balled his fingers into white fists. "The fact that I was so blind to it all!" He grunted, unable to articulate the hurt and the fact that he hadn't known.

"What! Arthur, I would never go behind your back like that," Francis cried out, moving to step towards him to plead his case. Even the thought of England believing that he would do that to him hurt more than any words could. Did he really trust him so little? "Spain and I are merely close friends. He's been helping me out with a favor, that's all!"

Arthur snorted, turning away from Francis. "A favor. I'm sure." He paused, glancing at him angrily from the corner of his eye. Despite what was being said, his mind became focused on the bruise. "I really didn't hit you that hard." Something wasn't adding up.

Once more, the golden haired man paused, heart aching as England continued to slander him. He finally backed away from the man, moving towards his bed and looking away from the angry face. "You didn't," he mumbled, tone defeated as if it didn't matter anymore. Arthur was mad at him for something he didn't do. His body deflated, as if a great weight had been placed onto his shoulders. "You merely loosened it. I needed to speak with you, so I had Russia help it along."

"Russia!" Arthur swung around fully, staring at Francis as though he had gone insane. "What? Why ever would you do that?" His eyebrows crinkled together in confusion.

"I needed to speak with you," France reiterated, as if that could explain everything. His body finally crumbled, the bed sagging underneath his weight as he sat down. "It was the only way I could get you here, so I could." Heaving a burdened sigh, he rubbed at his face tiredly, the pain in his jaw pulsing with his aching heart.

Arthur moved to stand in front of the Frenchman, looking down at his lover with a mixture of paling anger and confusion. He sighed, the frown still marring his face. "I'm still irrevocably mad at you, but..." With a sigh, he brought his wand up and gently tapped France's cheek where the bruise lay. For a second, the star shaped tip glowed. "That'll help with the swelling." _And the pain somewhat_, he thought to himself. He then growled, "Now start talking."

Moving his hand to rub at the bruise, France had to admit it did feel a great deal better. Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly began to share what he had been hiding from England. "While it's true that we've been spending a lot of time together, I swear it's not what you think. I was having him help me pick something out— a presents of sorts." He had taken Spain with him as he went in search of something to get Arthur for his birthday, which was only about a month away. France had had no idea what to get him, and walking around alone aimlessly till something struck him, as the hay colored hair man before him had, was not something he wished to do. Spain merely had been someone to hold a conversation with during the hunt.

Arthur raised a brow, still trying to understand. He tapped his finger against his bare arm, thinking about Francis' words. His face became redder as he started to come up with a conclusion.

Giving a deep sigh, Francis pushed himself up, as if his body was too heavy to move. Not looking at Arthur, he made his way to his closet and reached up to grab a box hidden up high. "I wasn't expecting for it to be discovered so soon," he admitted as he handled the box with care. "I was hoping it would wait until the actual day." Taking a glance over his shoulder at the shocked Englishman, he looked down at the box once more before turned around and headed towards the bed. He stopped a few feet away from Arthur, still hurt from his accusing words, and presented him with the box. Francis mustered up a lopsided smile. "Happy early birthday Arthur," he said as cheerfully as possible, a little saddened that his secret had been discovered.

Arthur glanced down at the box and then to Francis. "Wha...oh." Fingers pulling off the lid, Arthur glanced down to see a blue porcelain teapot, the same color as the sea on a calm day. Its handle was that of a twisting cherry bough, curling down the side and edges of the pot. Two delicate pink blossoms bloomed. A heavy stone settled into Arthur's stomach and his wings fluttered gently. "Oh..it's...it's beautiful Francis," he whispered. The guilt of his earlier words roiled in his gut. With a solemn look, Arthur's green eyes took in the sight of the dejected looking man. "Then why..." Arthur began, faltering at his own thoughts. _Why did I think you were cheating on me?_ Sitting on the edge of the bed, springs creaking at the extra weight, he paused and lookedto the pot. "It seems I jumped to conclusions without assessing it myself." He shut his eyes briefly and then watched France.

"It's alright Arthur, no harm done," Francis assured as best he could, hand moving to rub absentmindedly at his jaw. No permanent harm anyway. His thoughts drifted back to the little white tooth still sitting under the pillow. Well, no serious permanent harm. He slumped down beside the island nation on the bed, thoughts unwilling to ruin the moment. "I ordered some cups to with that," he added, nodding towards the pot. "They haven't come in yet. A friend of mine is painting some things on them for me."

Again Arthur looked at the pot, fingers sliding across the smooth finish. He looked up to Francis, meeting his gaze and gave a soft smile. Putting the box on the nightstand next to the bed, the island nation turned fully to his lover. "Come here, love," he murmured, fingers latching onto Francis' shoulder and drawing him near. He kissed the bruise on his cheek. "Thank you. And I'm sorry." He pressed his forehead to his and drew back. "We really should do something about that tooth." The wand rolled gently between his fingers.

"What, you don't think I can pull it off?" Francis asked with a wink before shooting him a smile that placed the angry red socket on display. He snaked his arms around Arthur's waist, happy that he could hold the man in his arms again.

Arthur wrinkled his nose as a response. "No. I do not." He slipped a hand under the pillow expertly, plucking the small bone from where it rested. Green eyes narrowed slightly. "This is so bizarre." With a tap of his wand, he watched the tooth begin to glow, muttering incantations in languages long dead. Finally completing the spell, he handed the tooth over. "Here. I love you, but I am not reaching into your mouth."

France shot him a weak pout before breaking out into a deep chuckle. Reluctantly moving a hand from Arthur's waist, he did as he was told and awkwardly stuffed the roots back into socket. The tooth snapped back into place, like a piece of some child's toy, roots and nerves spreading back into the jaw with a painful pop. The Frenchman couldn't help but flinch as he rubbed at his sore jaw. "Well that was hardly pleasant," he muttered before tonguing his newly reacquired tooth.

Arthur hummed, leaning over and giving a light kiss to his nose. "At least you have it again." He pulled down the hem of the toga riding up his thigh– he really hated the bloody thing.

Lithe fingers came to rest above England's before using his other hand to guide their lips together in a blissful kiss. It was slow and calm, yet expressing to Arthur how sorry he was to have acted in a way to loose his trust. The Englishman pressed forward as well, his own apology overriding anything that France could have said. Francis pulled back with a sigh as he rested their foreheads together, eyes closed. "You'll excuse me if I'm not up for talking much tonight Arthur, my jaw is still bothering me you see," he muttered rather throatily, a devilish smirk gracing his lips.

Arthur cleared his throat, pulling away. "Ah. Of course." He pulled away from Francis and began to straighten the toga once again. "I still have rounds to make, you know." Pausing, he bent down and pecked the Frenchman's cheek. Pulling away, he tapped his jaw lightly with the wand again. "I'll be back in a little."

Francis stood with him, following closely behind as Arthur moved towards the window. Just as he was about to leave, his pale hand grasped England's arm before turning the hay colored haired man back around to face him. Another tug sent the unbalanced Briton into his open arms, lips claiming the others soft mouth. Francis hugged and kissed and moved all the ways he knew drew his little rabbit crazy, nothing but pure love and passion emanating from the Frenchman's body. He pulled back only when he knew he had left Arthur breathless, sapphire eyes looking deep into their emerald counterparts. "Hurry back, _Mon Amour_," he whispered huskily, his warm breath ghosting over England's ear. With that done, he stepped back, giving Arthur room to leave, another devious smirk on his lips.

Arthur blinked, stunned from the kiss and left panting. His green eyes flickered up to meet blue, pouting slightly at the smirk on the other's lips. He grabbed Francis' shirt. "Fuck it," he muttered and jumped the Frenchman before he devoured his boyfriend's mouth.

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Thanks for reading and we hope you liked it. Reviews are always appreciated.


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